have lost in that
Parliamentary seat the talisman which gave him notions distinguishing
him from country squires; he had sunk, and he no longer cared for the
months in London, nor for the speeches she read to him to re-awaken
his mind and make him look out of himself, as he had done when he was a
younger man and not a suspended Whig. Her own favourite reading was of
love-adventures written in the French tongue. She had once been in love,
and could be so sympathetic with that passion as to avow to Cecilia
Halkett a tenderness for Nevil Beauchamp, on account of his relations
with the Marquise de Rouaillout, and notwithstanding the demoniacal
flame-halo of the Radical encircling him.

The allusion to Beauchamp occurred a few hours after Cecilia's arrival
at Itchincope.

Cecilia begged for the French lady's name to be repeated; she had not
heard it before, and she tasted the strange bitter relish of realization
when it struck her ear to confirm a story that she believed indeed, but
had not quite sensibly felt.

'And it is not over yet, they say,' Mrs. Grancey Lespel added, while
softly flipping some spots of the colour proper to radicals in morals
on the fame of the French lady. She possessed fully the grave judicial
spirit of her countrywomen, and could sit in judgement on the personages
of tales which had entranced her, to condemn the heroines: it was
impolitic in her sex to pity females. As for the men--poor weak things!
As for Nevil Beauchamp, in particular, his case, this penetrating lady
said, was clear: he ought to be married. 'Could you make a sacrifice?'
she asked Cecilia playfully.

'Nevil Beauchamp and I are old friends, but we have agreed that we are
deadly political enemies,' Miss Halkett replied.

'It is not so bad for a beginning,' said Mrs. Lespel.

'If one were disposed to martyrdom.'

The older woman nodded. 'Without that.'

'My dear Mrs. Lespel, wait till you have heard him. He is at war with
everything we venerate and build on. The wife you would give him should
be a creature rooted in nothing--in sea-water. Simply two or three
conversations with him have made me uncomfortable ever since; I can see
nothing durable; I dream of surprises, outbreaks, dreadful events. At
least it is perfectly true that I do not look with the same eyes on my
country. He seems to delight in destroying one's peaceful contemplation
of life. The truth is that he blows a perpetual gale, and is all
agitation,' Cecilia con